


Mark of Ownership

by SenoraKitty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, BDSM Scene, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Cutting, Dom Sherlock, Dom/sub, Edgeplay, Knifeplay, M/M, PWP without Porn, S&M, Scarification, Sub John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 05:24:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8044114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenoraKitty/pseuds/SenoraKitty
Summary: John Watson has many scars, but there is one set of scars he loves. This is how he got them.





	Mark of Ownership

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a companion piece to purrlockholmes' pic http://purrlockholmes.tumblr.com/post/150455835164/

Sherlock flipped open the pen knife and examined the blade. It was free of rust, and the perfect size for his intent.

John's eyes widened at the sight of the knife. "You're not going to use a scalpel?" Surely his master wasn't going to use that old knife on him. He had seen that blade being used for a number of things, and none of them were sanitary in the slightest.

"No..." Sherlock left that one word hanging in the air before continuing. "I want to mark you, and a scalpel has too thin a blade to fulfil that purpose." Observing John's wary eyes upon the instrument in his hand Sherlock sighed and attempted to quell his sub's fears. “I do intend to clean the blade, you know?” He held up the bottle of betadine to show John exactly what he meant.

With his initial fear of possible infection assuaged, John rested back on his elbows. Sherlock knew what he was doing and John had to believe in that. There was nothing Sherlock would do to permanently harm him, and he had agreed to this. They had spent days negotiating on exactly how Sherlock was going to mark him. Piercings and tattoos were right out, so Sherlock had offered scarification as an option. John only agreed on the terms that it would not be visible in public.

Now he lay there naked on a square of plastic anticipating that first incision. It was always the anxiety that got him than the fear of the unknown. Questions raced through his mind until he was a bundle of raw nerves just waiting to be touched. The snap of Sherlock putting on nitrile gloves nearly had him jumping off the bed. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Sherlock swabbed the knife clean with a fresh single use swab. John observed, his mind wondering how this was going to feel and his pulse picked up a bit.

The tip of the blade slowly punctured his skin drawing a hiss from between John's clenched teeth. Gently, and with precision Sherlock dragged the blade along an invisible line that only he could see.

“Oh god!” The sensation was sharp and burned at the same time nearly bringing tears in John's eyes. Then the blade turned and dug in the flesh for a second time adding to the already unbearable pain. “Oh _fuck!_ ” John shouted and fell back to the bed unable to hold his own weight and watch the procedure at the same time.

He could feel one of Sherlock's gloved hands rubbing soothing circles along his thigh in an attempt to comfort while at the same time encouraging John to hold still.

John was clammy and soaked in perspiration at this point. His breath coming in shallow gasps. He felt as if he might become sick as the blade continued to bite into his skin. He could feel the warm trickle of blood slither along the crease of his thigh. Holding his breath he prayed for the torture to end, and suddenly it did.

He was vaguely aware of Sherlock talking to him and he opened his blurry eyes to meet Sherlock's concerned gaze. He was ordering John to breathe, and until he felt the burning in his chest John couldn't figure out why. In a rush he sucked in fresh air beginning to breathe again.

“Nearly done,” he heard Sherlock cooing in that rich low thunder mumble.

His head was swimming in endorphins and soon enough his body felt relaxed and light. The sharp pain along his hip became only a dull throb. He barely registered the last few incisions in his body because now he was floating on an incredible high. He could hear and feel everything at once yet it still felt as if he was wandering through a fog. Here in this head space nothing could touch him, he was free.

Eventually John felt Sherlock's hands tracing patterns along his skin followed by a wet tacky sensation that was left in their wake. With a delighted hum he opened his eyes to find Sherlock's gaze fixated on something out of John's sight.

“It's done,” Sherlock informed him, his voice sounding thick and distant. “Just give me a moment and I'll have you cleaned up.”

John sat up just to see exactly what Sherlock's hands were doing, and froze at the sight. Sherlock's blood covered gloves were painting John's skin with his own blood. His cock twitched at both the sight and the sensation of it. “Oh god.” he breathed, shocked at his body's reaction to the gore smeared along his flesh. There had only been one time in his life where he had seen this much blood covering his skin, and it felt nothing like this.

Stormy sea glass colored eyes dragged along John's body. The pupils blown wide. And John could see the effect that this was having on Sherlock as well. His pulse picked back up, and he could feel himself growing hard beneath Sherlock's watchful gaze.

Sherlock's voice was barely above a whisper when he met John's eye. “John, can I-” He cut himself off as if not knowing how to voice what he wanted, or too afraid that John would decline his request.

John knew he was clean, in fact they both were. John insisted that they get tested before he would even agree to be Sherlock's submissive.

Licking his lips John felt another flush of arousal wash over his body. He could never deny Sherlock from what he truly wanted, and he had to admit he was a bit curious to see just what Sherlock had in mind. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Sanguine, covered fingers danced across his skin trailing his life's blood in their wake. Sherlock watched enraptured as his hands skated closer to John's need which now laid full and heavy against his stomach. Sherlock took the rigid flesh in his gore covered hand. The slick easing the way as he stroked John's cock.

John watched awe struck as his engorged cock was painted red. The slow drying blood tugging on his foreskin with each of Sherlock's pulls. In no time John was writhing on the bed. His skin sticky with sweat and blood mingled together. Pleads to be allowed to come were flowing from his mouth all the while Sherlock continued with his languid strokes.

Shifting on the bed, Sherlock called John’s attention to what he was about to do, his piercing eyes watching John as he lowered his face over John's cock.

“Oh fuck.” John wheezed as Sherlock's lips drew his blood red prick into his mouth, moaning around him. Wet heat engulfed him as Sherlock began to suck him clean with determined efficiency.

He was a crime scene of depravity. One which was Sherlock Holmes’s creation. His wound was sluggishly bleeding while the man who gave it to him was driving him towards insanity with his mouth. Sherlock eagerly worked his hand and mouth in rhythm drawing ecstatic cries from his sub as he consumed him.

He could feel his orgasm coiling in his gut just within reach. Tears stung his eyes as he once more resorted to begging for release. He was so close, and then a hand came to rest just under the cuts in his hip and thigh and squeezed. Pain, pleasure, and fear all melded together, and before John knew what was happening he was spilling into Sherlock's waiting mouth, a shout of completion escaping his own.

Sherlock leaned back, rolling the flavor of come and blood over his tongue.

“How was that?” John huffed in wonder as Sherlock swallowed. His body was wrecked but he felt sublime in his post orgasmic haze.

“Something I could get used to.”

 

John studied the pink red scar in the mirror looking at the two letters from different angles. It was healing well, he noted, and he found that he enjoyed the slight pain it gave him when his pants would rub the spot just so. A fond smile graced his lips as he recalled how he got the scars. A warmth bloomed within his chest, he was safe, he was free, he was loved, and he was marked and owned.


End file.
